This Mess We're In
by hibbleton
Summary: Post-4.11 'Lay Your Hands On Me'. She steps into the empty elevator and she knows it's bad news. Somehow, he'll end up on this elevator, too. One-shot.


**Author's note**: I know, I know. 1) I should be writing Light Years, and 2) I've already written two post-4.11 one-shots.

This is a standalone story that has ties to Caught by the River, which was the companion piece to Joy in Small Places.

It also vaguely ties into Light Years (eCookie to anyone who spots the reference), and I've been trying to write it for a while before Light Years solved my writer's block. (By the way, much thanks to those of you reading LY. I was a quarter way through the most recent chapter when I couldn't get this story out of my head. It'll hopefully be done tomorrow.)

* * *

Meredith waits in the elevator bay for the ride that will take her one step closer to home for the first time in thirty-two hours. Her body aches from staying overnight, keeping an eye on Bailey's son voluntarily. She feels strangely protective over him, like she felt over that baby in the nursery all those months ago. Focusing all her attention on little Tuck also provided her with respite from her own burdensome thoughts. He's gone again. They're over again.

A chime sounds. She steps into the empty elevator and she knows it's bad news. Somehow, he'll end up on this elevator, too. She had managed to avoid him (and _her_) today, but she knew it wouldn't last. She counts down the seconds until the doors close. She's an inch away from freedom when they suddenly open back up to reveal him. Of course they do. That's the kind of luck she has.

He looks up and for a second, appears as though he might just wait for the next one. Instead, he takes a deep breath, steels himself and steps into the metal box containing the former supposed love of his life.

The doors slide shut and the tension in the enclosed space is so thick that it's practically tangible. Meredith wonders if she could even move an inch right now; if she could break through the heavy air and move at all.

"So... you're dating," she starts casually, testing her theory about the air by turning to him, her voice belying the torrent of _everything_ building up inside her.

"I wasn't going to wait forever." His voice matches his expression – cold and detached. She recognizes it for what it is – his armor.

"I wasn't asking you to wait. I was asking you to take the stairs with me, but we all know how much you love elevators," she says, with a slight teasing smile that she doesn't feel. She doesn't know why she's speaking to him at all. Maybe she wants to pretend she's okay. Like she's okay with him pretending that they don't need each other like air. Like the past sixteen months have meant nothing. Like she isn't dying inside because he's given up on her again, like nearly everyone else in her life has.

He turns to face her, his eyes dark with anger but they soften when he meets her eyes. "A person can only climb stairs for so long before he gets tired."

The corners of her eyes crinkle in a genuine smile as she responds, "I thought you had better endurance than that."

The tension subsides and he raises an eyebrow at her but says nothing. She fights the visual assault of memories of the various instances where she enjoyed the benefits of his high endurance.

"Did you have fun?" She has no idea why she's torturing herself like this. She vaguely wonders if she should ask Dr. Sloan for his shrink's phone number.

"Meredith," he breathes out, shaking his head. It's not a response to her question, she knows, but rather an expression of disbelief.

"What, we can't be friends?" She suddenly finds herself desperate to hang on to any bit of him that she can. He's hurt her time and time again but she still can't deny the connection that they have, and the fact that she still feels safe with him despite his proven propensity for stabbing her in the chest.

"Can we _really_ be friends? Do you really want to know about my date with Rose," she turns away to hide her sour expression at the mention of the name while he continues, "Or is this some kind of twisted mind game you have going on?"

She intends to say that she's going to be a bigger person this time, that she's growing up and this is part of it. What she says in place of that is, "I don't know."

The elevator stops moving, then, opening the doors to allow escape if she wants it. Instead, she falls into step next to him, ignoring the stares and glares of various staff members who, like the rest of the hospital, heard about the date that 'Dr. McDreamy' had with 'that adorably sweet nurse'.

They exit the hospital in silence, save for their footsteps. She glances up at him to take in the line of his clenched jaw, the telltale signs of poor sleep under his eyes and the slightly matted hair from his scrub cap after a long surgery. She wants to take him home and crawl into bed together for a long sleep (sex would wait till morning) and she mentally kicks herself for thinking it. He's not hers anymore.

He flits his eyes over to meet hers and his jaw relaxes at the sight of her studying him. He stops his forward motion and steps towards a nearby bench, dropping his briefcase on it before taking a seat. She fights the familiar urge to flee and sits down next to him. _What am I doing, what am I doing._

Neither speaks for a minute, and both just inhale, exhale and stare out at the moving cars, the gray Seattle dusk and the world in general, spinning around them. Life goes on, it's saying, and she believes it.

It helps her gather up the courage to speak again. "It's really over." It's not a question. He's moving on, picking someone else over her again. In the back of her mind, a little voice adds _for now,_ but she ignores it.

"Yeah," he agrees. He opens his mouth to say more, but closes it again before any sound comes out. It reminds her of her childhood pet goldfish, and she wishes her mind wasn't so flighty outside the hospital. He takes deep breaths, clenches and unclenches his jaw, rakes a hand through his hair... all signs that he's stressed about what he wants to say next.

She looks over and decides to encourage him to speak. "What is it?"

He aims his eyes upwards, downwards, straight ahead – anywhere but at her. "Are you going to start dating?"

Meredith laughs sardonically. "It's a common side effect of breaking up with someone," she responds.

He grunts and crosses his arms over his chest. Part of her wants to laugh at his petulant behavior, and part of her wants to be angry because he has no right. Instead, she throws him a bone. "I don't know if I will. I never planned on it at all. Dating, I mean. Before you, I lived my life with a handful of close friends, a few dozen cases of tequila and one night stands when I needed to scratch an itch." She doesn't mention that nobody has ever scratched the itch quite like Derek. "It's different now, though. It's all your fault. You've turned me into a person who wants things," she finishes, and wishes she hadn't said so much. For all the running she did, all the non-conversation, she finds herself wanting to say more right now than she ever did before. How does that song go? Don't know what you've got till it's gone? She rolls her eyes at herself in her head. She just wants closure, she thinks. _For now_, the little voice adds again.

"But you don't want them with me," he suggests, his voice dark again.

She shrugs. "I do. I did."

"Past tense."

She leans over and cradles her head in her arms. She wishes she hadn't opened her big mouth. She's growing up, she thinks. That's why she's having this conversation, right? She sits back up and steadies her mind. "I learned over the years to shut myself off. My mom disappointed me time and time again so I stopped expecting anything. My dad walked out the door and I always hoped I'd get a letter or something where he explained that he was with the CIA and had to leave his family for a secret mission but he'd be coming home and, well, that obviously never happened. And then you. I opened myself up to you despite all my hang-ups and better judgment and then you told me you had a wife and then you told me you were leaving her and then you picked her over me. Just like they did." Just like you're doing now, she finishes in her head.

He tenses up again and raises his hands in the air. "We're seriously back to that again?"

She glares at him. "I never got over that. I'm not like you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You got over Addison, just like that. And then you left me and you were back with her, just like that. And then you left her, and came back to me, and then you left me and started dating the nurse. Just. Like. That."

"I don't have time for this," he says, while grabbing his briefcase. He stands in front of the bench and turns to face her.

She stays seated and meets his eyes. "You don't have time for _me_. You're driving a hundred miles an hour and I'm just sitting here."

He shakes his head and she watches the effect it has on his curls. "I don't want to have this fight anymore."

"Of course you don't. That would require you re-living your bad choices and you _hate_ that."

He sets his briefcase down again to allow for arm-motions and hands-on-hips to accompany his speech. "I already admitted fault. I told you I made the wrong choice."

"But you have _no idea_ what it was like for me."

"It couldn't have been worse than pulling your frozen body out of the water," he says coldly, before sitting down again.

She closes her eyes at the sting of his words. "Wow. Okay, now _I_ don't want to have this fight anymore." If anything, it proves that she was right about how far they are from building a house together. Standing on opposite sides of a rushing river, her mind supplies.

"Meredith." His voice is soft again and he runs a few fingers along her cheek.

She allows herself a half-second to enjoy the feeling before turning away. She keeps her eyes screwed shut. "No."

"Meredith," he whispers.

"Damn it," she replies, before opening her eyes and reaching over to bring his mouth to hers. It's not like their breakup kiss in the on-call room. There's no flame or fire or anything suggesting it's anything but goodbye. It's soft and sad and she feels like her heart is going to stop.

They separate but stay close, breathing each other's air for what could (but likely won't) be the last time. Their eyes have a conversation that doesn't involve speaking. They can't be friends. They won't be friends. It would require knowing too much about their lives without each other and neither is strong enough for that.

She inhales deeply one more time before standing up and shifting the tote bag over her shoulder. She stands up and faces him, reminiscent of Thanksgiving night a year ago.

"Goodbye, Derek."

"Goodbye, Meredith."

She turns around and walks to her car, never looking back. The world dances around her and she moves along with it.


End file.
